


The Weight

by ObliObla



Series: Lucifer Songfics [7]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Chloe KNOWS, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: “Chloe…”“What?” She turned around, burying fear under anger. “What could you possibly say?”Close up, Lucifer almost looked haggard, his hair mussed, with dark circles under his eyes she hadn’t even known were possible. She watched his throat bob nervously as his gaze darted past her. She shook her head, her own eyes closing. Of course he was going to run. He always ran. He would always…“I’m sorry.”For Lucifer Bingo prompt: Necklace





	The Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Great thanks to the lovely [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome) for her beta help!
> 
> And I wake up early to watch you as you wake  
> And open your eyes to the sound of the rain
> 
> ‘Cause I don't want money and I don't want God  
> I just want to live under the weight of your love  
> I'd rather go blind, let my body go numb  
> Than to lose you or the weight of your love
> 
> Flick hair from your shoulder and sleep marks your face  
> Retreat to the covers from the sound of the rain  
> -Amber Run-

Their eyes met across the crowded room and it was the worst kind of cliché, because Chloe never went out and why would Lucifer go to a club that wasn’t his own? But there he sat, body language casual but expression grave, ensconced in a shadowy corner like it could prevent the gaze of the other patrons from following him. Yet, even as they stared at each other, he was approached by a girl in a short dress and his attention wavered. She chose that moment to make her escape, slipping out into the alley.

She panted, leaning against the bricks. Besides the requisite work appearances—though their partnership was long since dissolved—they hadn’t so much as seen each other in months. She didn’t want to be afraid, _wanted_ to think she knew him, but it had all become too much. Him, his family, her whole worldview, really… She had thought, before, that what they had _did_ go beyond work, was maybe not only a friendship, but it was so much easier to just stay away and try not to think about it.

She massaged the bridge of her nose, turning to head back to her car and home to her empty house, but she was shaken from her thoughts by someone who had slipped out the door behind her. “Sorry,” she said automatically, even before her eyes opened and she found herself face to expensive Italian wool. She tried to ignore him, pushing past, but…

“Chloe…”

“What?” She turned around, burying fear under anger. “What could you _possibly_ say?”

Close up, he almost looked haggard, his hair mussed, with dark circles under his eyes she hadn’t even known were possible. She watched his throat bob nervously as his gaze darted past her. She shook her head, her own eyes closing. Of course he was going to run. He _always_ ran. He would always…

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flew open, but she swallowed back the hope that threatened, scoffing. “No. You don’t _get_ to be sorry. You could’ve shown me the whole time and instead you just…” She bit her lip, hard. She wasn’t going to let him see her cry.

“I lied,” he admitted quietly. “Or… _bluffed_ , I suppose.” His head tilted in a shadow of his usual sardonicism.

She crossed her arms, unamused.

“I was selfish. I-I liked how you looked at me. Not an angel, not the Devil, just… me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulder pressing against the wall.

“That doesn’t make it ok.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’ll be leaving soon, and you won’t have to see me again. I just… You deserve to know. You deserve the truth.”

She sighed, hurt but not surprised. “So that _wasn’t_ the only thing you’ve been keeping from me.”

He looked at her, eyes narrowed, seemingly calculating what her response would be. His mouth opened and then closed again.

“Fine.” She turned away, but made herself wait another second. Maybe he wouldn’t shut her out this time.

But he stayed silent.

She shook her head. “I’m going home, now,” she said, starting to walk away. Why had she expected anything different from how he always—

“You’re a miracle.” He said it flatly, almost dispassionately.

What the hell did _that_ mean? She turned back to stare at him.

He cleared his throat. “M-my Father had Amenadiel bless your mother so she would fall pregnant with you.”

Panic tore at her insides for a sickening moment before her well-practiced compartmentalization took over. She nodded as evenly as she could manage. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why He does anything.”

“Ok…”

“You still have your free will.” He was desperate now, but still… strangely diminished, head angled downward. “He doesn’t control what you think, what you f—”

“I know who I am,” she said, emphatic.

He jerked his head in assent.

“So, that’s it? That’s everything?”

He hesitated.

“ _Tell me_.”

“It’s not fair to tell you,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. She opened her mouth to yell, but then he sighed, frustrated. “But it isn’t fair to keep withholding things, either.”

“No.”

But he didn’t seem to hear her. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, features deepening with anguish, eyes ancient like she’d never seen them. He held out his hand like he intended to take hers, then let it fall back to his side, shoulders slumping. He took a deep breath that hitched, almost a sob. What could be so bad to make _him_ …?

“I love you.”

Her enforced numbness shattered like it’d never been.

She gaped as he sought to fill the silence. “I oughtn’t, I know. But I _can’t_ … You are so…” He shut his eyes tightly for a moment; when they opened they were dull, his voice hard and brittle. “You don’t have to worry, Detective.” And he smiled in some cold, cruel simulacrum of sympathy, already turning away. “I shan’t bother you again.”

She leapt forward and caught his hand before he could leave. He froze, tension thrumming beneath her fingertips, and she marveled that she had this much control over his movements. “Don’t go,” she whispered, in a tone too fragile for this moment.

“ _Chloe_ …” His voice broke.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said, a little louder, a little stronger.

“Darling, I’m the Devil. _Satan_. I belong in Hell.”

She tightened her grip around him. “You belong _here_.”

He blinked at her dubiously. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“What? Because I love you too?” The word seemed to freeze both of them for an instant, but the truth of it rang in the air. She did. She hadn’t been sure, but she knew now that—

“ _No_ ,” he said brusquely. “You _can’t_. You’re far too _good_ to… You’ve seen my face!”

She met his gaze flatly. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t… you don’t _care_?”

“Not to me, remember?” A quiet balcony in the sky, not stinking like alcohol and cigarettes, in a moment so much purer and simpler and yet so much less _real_ than these flaking bricks and this crumbled concrete. Than his fatalism and her desperation. She reached up to brush her fingers against his jaw. “Not to me.”

For a long moment he stood, frozen. They were so close she imagined she could feel his turmoil, doubt threatening to overcome him. He shook under her fingertips, swaying, torn between pulling away and pressing against them. Her fear reached a fever pitch as his expression seemed to crumple, but then, like the stars rising from the deepening twilight, he smiled. “I…” His voice trailed off and he brought his other hand up to take hers.

“Me too,” she said softly. She leaned into him even as she made to take a step back, impose a little distance. This felt fast, and there’d been too much fast, too much leaping without looking. She opened her mouth, intent on wishing him a good night, retreating to the safety of her house, but what came out instead was, “Come home with me.”

“Are you sure?”

Gaze deep and dark and intense, he looked like he never wanted to let go of her again but he would, she knew, if she only asked. But this time— _this time_ —she didn’t want him to leave. To let another moment slip through their fingertips, dissipating like the morning fog until there was nothing left but cold, bitter daylight. She let her thumb slip down to trace the edge of his lips, leaning up to press a kiss to them, whisper into his mouth.

“ _Yes_.”

* * *

 

The car ride was quiet, Chloe’s key in the front door lock loud and dissonant against the silence. Lucifer shoved himself into the corner of her couch, hunched and awkward, as she busied her hands pouring them scotch from one of the bottles Maze had left behind. Their love may be a spoken fact now, but their easy camaraderie had died with the fire in his eyes.

She pressed a glass into his hand and he blinked blankly at it. She downed half her own and winced, sitting on the other side of the couch and setting it down too hard on the coffee table. He looked up sharply and put his own glass down untouched, watching her like he’d never seen her before.

“I missed you,” she said, because it was too quiet, because it was true.

It was such a simple thing, but his eyes widened in shock. “I-I…” He unfolded himself a little.

She reached over and took his hand again.

He looked down at their entwined fingers. “My apologies,” he murmured. “I am unused to… _this_.”

“I’ll just have to help you then,” she teased softly, moving a little closer. He was wonderfully warm even through their clothing and she sighed, letting herself simply feel, lost in the moment. Their clasped hands slid softly into her lap and the feeling of his fingers brushing her inner thighs—even entirely innocently—made her tremble. She hadn’t realized how much they’d touched on a daily basis until it’d stopped, and now she was starved even for this basic contact.

He caught her gaze and a little of his confidence seemed to return to him as he began stroking his fingers deliberately against the line of her jeans. She shuddered harder and his eyes darkened, but he pulled away.

She bit back a whine at the loss. “It’s ok,” she said. “You can… if you want.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, again, on a quiet breath.

She nodded, licking her lips. His gaze snapped to the motion and his hand found her knee. She tensed, clenching at the heat of his palm as it slid upward, at his fingertips rasping against the denim. His eyes drifted back up to meet hers and she stared, entranced by their shine, as she pressed closer. Their lips met almost incidentally, though he moaned into the gentle touch as she moved to straddle him. She let herself fall into his embrace, his hands sparking fire in her veins.

He kissed down her neck and she panted into his ear. He bit her shoulder gently, soothing the slight pain with the heat of his mouth. She pressed herself further against him, making him hiss and tangle his hand in her hair. They kissed for a long moment, but his fingers tightened and she pulled away to whimper into the quiet room.

She slipped off his lap, standing on mostly steady legs. He blinked at her, dazed, but when she urged him upward he acquiesced, palms seeking her hips like he was afraid to let go. They tripped over the stairs and their own feet in their desperation to reach her bedroom, her hand buried in his loosening curls and his lips insistent on her neck. He kicked her door open distractedly and they stumbled over the threshold. But, in her haste to drag his body over to the bed, they got caught on her dresser, yanking at one of the pulls and dropping the drawer to the ground.

Socks and underwear tumbled around them and she blinked at them for a second before turning her attention back to him; she could deal with it later. But he wasn’t kissing at the delicate skin where her shoulder met her neck. Instead he was looking at the ground and, in a swift motion, stooped to pick something up.

Her bullet necklace.

Hanging from two fingers, it glittered in the inconstant, meager light of the streetlamp coming through the window blinds. She had completely forgotten she’d stashed it there, had acquiesced to Marcus’s insistence she take it off, but hadn’t had the heart to leave it further away. In one sense, of course, it’d been a silly joke, a bit of cheeky innuendo— _ha, ha, I penetrated you._

But with Lucifer, things were rarely so simple.

She opened her mouth—probably to apologize—when he derailed her train of thought entirely.

“I should have told you then how I felt.”

“When I took it off?” she asked confidently, because _yeah_ , he should have. It would’ve been a mess, but… _Hell_ , it could hardly have been worse than it’d ended up anyway, right?

“No,” he said quietly, not meeting her gaze, still staring at the little flattened slug. “When you put it on.”

She gaped at him. “You… _already_ …?”

He hummed his assent, finally meeting her eyes. He shook his head a little despairingly, but that grin that made him look so young returned, seeming to brighten the whole room.

“I heard you.” She’d finally found her voice. “When you came in, I woke up. You apologized. Y-you said the _last_ thing you wanted was to lie to me.” She’d rarely heard his voice so soft, so… gentle.

“But I have,” he whispered, the shadows of trees shifting across his face. “And I’ve hurt you.”

“Yes,” she allowed.

His expression dissolved into raw pain.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving.” She took a step toward him, taking his free hand. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” She entwined their fingers together. “And it does _not_ mean you’ll do it again.” She lifted their hands, together, and pressed them over her heart.

He looked from their clasped hands to her face, his eyes glinting in the soft light. “You are…” But his voice trailed off like he was lost for words. No, it was more than that. He had, she knew now, every word that existed and had ever existed and _still_ there was no word sufficient. And so he said only those words he did have.

“I love you.”

Like they might flutter off if he looked away, even for a second.

“I love you.”

Like he still couldn’t believe he had any right to them, but would never stop trying to have faith.

“I _love_ you.”

Like within her soul she held all the light that Heaven had denied him and, no matter how many eternities he saw, he would never let himself fall from her grace.

She felt herself blush, not from shyness or embarrassment, but simply from the sheer intensity of the emotion in his eyes, from the joyful ache in her chest. “Can I…?” she asked quietly, gesturing at the necklace. “I just… I don’t want to not be wearing it.”

“Of course,” he said softly, taking his hand from hers. “May I?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He slipped behind her, drawing the chain carefully around her neck. The metal was cold but, as he leaned down to better reach, he breathed heat across her skin. She shuddered as he secured the clasp, carefully freeing her hair from underneath it. Moving to stand in front of her, he lifted the bullet up, bringing it to his lips. He kissed it with a delicacy she hardly believed, before following it back down to her chest.

She felt her heart beat hard against his fingertips as they lingered. “I missed you,” she repeated in a low voice, trembling as his fingers began to stroke over her shirt. His warmth soaked into her even through the cloth and she imagined—suddenly, vividly—how his touch would feel against her bare flesh.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, hand moving to gently cup her breast, thumb circling slowly.

There he was being all slow and careful while she could hardly restrain herself from pressing more firmly against him. As he picked up speed ever so slightly, all her breath left her in a gasp. He froze and she brought a hand up to paw at his, trying to get him to move.

“ _Please_ …” she murmured. Her eyes were half-closed, but she could still see his composure wavering, fingers shaking against her and irises flickering with unbidden flames. The fire stoked something within her and she moaned, pushing into him.

And gone was the gentle moment between them. He pulled her to him, walking backwards to the bed. When she jumped at him, knocking them both onto the mattress, he laughed softly. “Eager, are we?” he asked.

She grinned at him, managing to yank off his jacket, but pausing at the collar of his shirt. His hands came up to bracket her hips, stabilizing her precarious position as she ran her fingers over the soft cotton. The sound was almost that of skin-on-skin and she felt herself clench, dizzy from the sensation. She started undoing the buttons and he sighed as she worked her way down. She stripped him of his shirt, dislodging his hands for a moment, before pulling her own shirt over her head, carefully threading the necklace through, still without shame, but maybe a little hesitant.

She _could_ stop this now, and not so much would have to change. They could take things slow, like she’d told herself she wanted. Her last… _thing_ had been sudden, rash—too much desire, not nearly enough thought.  Lucifer was _all_ desire but, if she asked, he would wait. He was already pulling back, reading her uncertainty, not even glancing at the expanse of exposed skin. Watching her face instead in a way that could almost deceive her into thinking he wasn’t that interested, if not for the sparks in the depths of his eyes, the tension in his jaw. The way his fingers flexed anxiously against his trousers; the way his hips shifted restlessly beneath her.

But still, he waited.

She reached down to touch the bullet, hanging heavy between her breasts, warming to the temperature of her skin. His gaze followed her fingers down and, in the stillness between breaths, she made her choice.

The _snick_ of her bra clasp was loud in the silence. She threw the fabric down to the ground to lie with her other underclothes.

His eyes travelled from the floor back up to her nakedness with an expression of disbelief. He lay and watched her for so long awkwardness threatened to overcome her, but then he breathed in sharply. “You are… _magnificent_ , darling.” He swallowed nervously. “But are you… are you _certain_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said, half a moan, and he sat up under her, pressing kisses to her lips, her throat, the scar on her shoulder, trailing down to mouth, again, at the bullet. Her groan came involuntarily as he nipped carefully at the underside of her breast, before taking her nipple into his mouth. Her hands came up to grip in his hair as his fingers skimmed up her ribs, and his touch was as rapturous as she’d imagined, warming her and raising shivering goosebumps.

When he moved to her other breast—making her hiss from the contrast of cool air and hot mouth—he shifted them, splaying her out on the bed, covering but not pressing. The sheets were cold under her and she arched, rubbing against him, making him moan high in his throat. He worked his way down, kissing her soft curves, biting at her hipbones. She shoved her jeans down to her knees before he could ask and he took them the rest of the way down, along with her socks and underwear, the bundle ending up in the growing pile.

He looked up at her, questioning. She nodded, letting her legs fall open further, scratching her fingernails against his scalp. He opened her to him, tongue deliberate and hot, sensation burning through her. He kissed into her, humming against her lips as he sucked, lightly at first, then more heavily as she panted. “ _Please_ …”

“What do you want, Chloe?” he murmured, nosing against her.

“I-I…” She whimpered as he licked her clit slowly, drawing it out and making it pulse against his tongue. She bucked up against his mouth. “Your fingers, I…” Her words were lost to a throaty moan as he slipped two fingers in, rubbing deliberately against the ridge inside. As her legs clenched around his ears he groaned and she was skimming the edge, lost in the motion. The pleasure throbbed through the pathways of her blood and her ears buzzed as it peaked, eyes fluttering closed and breath leaving her in a rush.

“ _Lucifer_ …” she muttered indistinctly as he moved back up her body. He brushed the hair from her face, and she shivered into his touch, overstimulated but still desperate to maintain contact.

“You are sublime, my love,” he whispered in her ear.

She clutched as his shoulders to ground herself and, feeling the tension there, smoothed her hands down his back. Scars marred his flesh no longer; instead, there was almost a fluttering under the smooth skin. He shuddered, arching back into her touch, stretching above her, nuzzling against her neck.

She trailed her fingers down his spine, settling against his waistband. He hummed as she stroked along to his belt buckle.

“I love your hands,” he said softly as she undid the buckle, sliding the leather away from his hips and tossing it off the bed. His trousers and briefs went the way of her jeans and it was her turn to stare as he held himself over her, all lean lines and easy grace.

He was solid as a tower but he yielded easily, letting her turn them, press him into the indent left by her body. A strange expression crossed his face but, as she stroked him, his mouth slackened and he sighed in relief. She lengthened the motion and he mumbled broken syllables, hand coming up to smooth over her waist. She leaned down to kiss his chest, lick at the soft indentations.

A gentle bite near his collarbone spurred him into speech, eyelids shuddering with the effort of remaining open and fixed on her. “Darling… Chloe… _please_ …”

Her hand slid over him, fingers tightening and she paused. “Do we need…?”

He shook his head. “I’m not… human.”

She nodded and pressed him to her, moaning softly as she rubbed against him.

He sobbed out a note of perfect pleasure.

She leaned forward as she worked her way down, pressing her forehead against his and gasping at the change in angle. “ _I love you_ ,” she breathed against his lips. She spread her thighs further, sinking fully onto him and, as he bottomed out, she squeaked in a way that might have embarrassed her if it weren’t for the awed hunger on his face.

His hands came up to hold her as she waited for her muscles to relax around him. They kissed sloppily—all teeth and tongues, her arousal heady in his mouth—before he sat up under her, pressing their lips more firmly together, faces so close they breathed the same air, his eyelashes tickling against her cheek. She felt more than heard him murmur, “And I you.” Her fingers tangled in his hair and his nails scraped carefully down her spine.

She rocked deliberately, mouth finding his throat as she leaned into him. His moan rumbled against her lips when she moved again, testing the stretch. When her teeth met soft flesh he bucked beneath her, and a slow rhythm developed. She rode the gentle wave for a long moment before his fingers slipped around to press against her clit, and she couldn’t help the quickening of her hips.

“ _Ahh_.”

She gasped on every stroke, but there wasn’t enough leverage and she groaned, frustrated. “I… I need…” she forced out between breaths. He read her desire in the tension of her body and braced her hips and head before flipping them, carefully but so quickly she barely saw the motion and she was underneath him, keening as the world narrowed to where they were joined.

Her breaths hitched and stuttered out of her, lip throbbing with her pulse, and he moaned, pressing harder, moving faster. “That’s it,” he panted.

She pulled a leg up to press her heel into his back and groaned. He slid up a fraction of an inch and her eyes snapped involuntarily shut.

“ _That’s it, Chloe_.” It was indistinct, as if through water. “ _That’s it_ …”

The wave inside her crested and she was lost in the tide, pulling his head down to grip in his hair and feeling him pulse and shudder and come undone, breathing hotly against her neck, making an almost anguished sound she could barely hear over the blood pounding in her ears. She blinked herself back to consciousness, and pulled away, slipping off the bed to walk to the bathroom.

When she returned, the bed was empty and a cruel infinity lay between the door opening and Lucifer coming back into view. He was sitting on the floor, folding the underclothes that had fallen to the floor. It has begun to rain a gentle, winter rain and the diffused light splayed softly over his hands as they deposited the garments back into their drawer before moving on to smooth the cups of her bra, untwisting the straps and storing it carefully.

She climbed back onto the bed and he looked up, no leer on his lips, no inappropriate comment on his tongue. She lifted the covers in invitation and he stood and slotted the drawer back into the dresser before joining her, slipping under the blanket and pulling her back into his arms.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, tracing his ribs, reveling in her ability to simply feel him beside her.

“I wanted to,” he said, fingers trailing down the chain of her necklace.

She hesitated over her response, weighing the strength of her insecurities. But his expression was so soft and open, it drew out her words. “For a second, I… I thought you’d gone.”

He kissed her forehead and his arms tightened around her. “I don’t want to leave.”

She believed him—he never lied, after all—but she couldn’t help but add, “I’d understand if you…”

“ _Chloe_ ,” he breathed. “If you’d permit me, I would lie with you every night. Wake up beside you every morning. I want nothing more than to please you, in any way you’d like.” She shivered as he pulled her even closer, tipping his head down to whisper in her ear. “Please allow me this, my love.”

He pulled back enough to meet her eye and she shuddered again at the intensity she saw there, at the strange almost-desperation, but there was love there. And it was enough.

“Yes,” she whispered and his kiss, when it came, was slow and all-encompassing in its passion, yet far too brief as he sought her ear and painted the shell with his warming breaths.

“Now sleep, and don’t fret. I’ll be here when you wake.”

And she sank into the weight of her dreams.

* * *

 

And Lucifer was happy.

Wasn’t he?

The woman he loved was asleep in his arms and he was happy. He would do anything for her, anything she asked. Anything she needed but couldn’t ask for, she was so good. And that was what love was, wasn’t it? Love, devotion, _worship_ …

He sighed, pulling her closer. It was raining, still, and the soft light from the window played across the bullet in her necklace—that little metal slug, the first mortal thing to hurt him. There was no scar on his leg where she’d wounded him, no visible trace at all, but he could still feel the ache of it in his bones.

But, he was happy.

He had to be.

And so, he closed his eyes to the sound of the rain.


End file.
